Rising Angel
by WoollyOne
Summary: Charlie's unknown niece is rescued by the Angels, who she in turn rescues from her captors. She is asked by Charlie to become her own Angel and takes on the task, but Charlie's insistence on her independence has caused problems even the Angels can't solve. Based on the 2011 TV series


I squirm in the handcuffs, trying to find a way out of them, but they've done them up too tight, and they're biting into my wrists. The cut underneath the corner of my eye is slowly but surely dripping a trail of blood down the side of my face and into my mouth, filling it with the unpleasant, metallic taste. I thought for sure that one of them would break my nose, but they haven't. They come back in with a roll of duct tape and cable ties. More than anything, I hate duct tape and cable ties.

One of the men holds his hand over my mouth while the others unlock the handcuffs and instead use cable ties to bind my hands to the head of the bed, and since my legs don't reach the end of the bed, they just cable tie them together. The guy holding my mouth takes away his hand and another one tapes my mouth shut with three layers of duct tape. I fight against them the whole time, but it only earns be a boot in the thigh and another fist to the face, the other side this time, and harder. It opens another cut, and a fresh stream of blood flows down my face, but skids over the duct tape and down my neck, pooling at my collarbone. They leave again, and I'm left alone, cable tied to the bed with the door locked.

I hear noises outside, probably in the lounge room, and female voices yelling. I hear the sound of a gun, and I know the men have guns, but what about the people that just came in? I can hear crashing and breaking glass, and start trying to make some noise, let someone know that I'm in here, but I can't make a sound. I can hear someone trying to open the door, clearly without a key. In the end, they shoot the lock and kick down the door. It's a young woman, about twenty-five, with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wielding a gun. Her eyes open wide when she sees me and she puts the gun back in her belt and pulls out a knife instead.

"I'm gonna do this nice and quick, OK?" she says calmly, reaching for my face. She grabs the corner of the duct tape and rips it off quickly. It stings a lot, but it dissipates quickly.

"Who are you?" I ask breathlessly as she cuts open the cable ties around my ankles.

"Let's just say we're Angels," she says, glancing out at another two women in the lounge room. She kneels beside my head and works at the cable ties around my wrists and manages to avoid cutting me in the process. "The door's open, just get out of here as quickly as you can," she says, taking her gun out again as I nod.

I do as she says, following her back out into the lounge room and sprint out the door, nearly falling down the stairs as I go. When I get outside, a briefcase with a silver scripted C on the front catches my eye. It's underneath a bench, carefully concealed behind a small bush. I know that emblem, and I dart for the case, opening it and clipping the earpiece to my ear and turning it on.

"About time," the smooth male voice in my ear says. "You're not about to die of anything?"

"No, just a bit stiff," I reply, rummaging through the case, noticing the handgun first. I take it back into an alley near the abandoned apartment and keep looking through the case.

"Those women that just got you out of there, now they need your help," the voice says as I clip the belt from the case around my waist. "You need to go back in and get them out of there now, before the guys that took you kill them."

"Already on it," I say, loading the handgun and clipping a canister of concentrated chloroform and a knife to the belt. I slip a lighter into my pocket as well, just in case.

"That's my girl," the voice says, and I can't help but smile. "Be quick about it, and don't kill anyone."

As I run back up the stairs I can hear the voices of the men yelling, and the sound of flesh on flesh. The door's still open so I walk calmly through it and point the gun at the man I know to be the leader of their little gang. He looks shocked, and I smirk.

"You didn't consider this, did you?" I say, glancing at the three women who stand huddled together, guns trained on them from all sides.

"You didn't consider this, though," the man says, and raises his gun. I raise mine to match his, but he shoots first. I flinch, but don't move, even as the bullet drives deep into my left arm, just above my elbow. I scream, but it's short and I don't let the tears spill over. I've ended up curled in on myself and I straighten up.

I point my gun at the man now blocking the door and aim carefully at his leg, just below his groin. He stands frozen, his eyes trained on the gun, but glances up at his boss, who motions for him to stay where he is. I hear him let out a whimper as I take off the safety, and he closes his eyes as I pull the trigger. His howls of pain echo through the room as my bullet embeds itself into his leg.

"I don't think you really considered that, either," I point out. "Let them go," I order, gesturing to the women with my gun.

"No," the leader says. "No, I don't think I will. I think we'll have a little fun with you first."

"Have it your way," I say, pulling out the canister.

I toss it into the middle of the room and the men shrink back, thinking it's a bomb, but relax slightly when nothing happens. I raise my gun again and shoot, this time at the canister, ripping it open and sending the gas into the air.

"A bit of steam? That's all you've got?" the leader says, taunting me.

I pull out the lighter and flip open the lid, lighting the flame. "You want to find out?" I glance behind me at the women who are watching confusedly. "Run," I mutter to them, and they back out of the room. I can see some of the men starting to lose their balance and I smirk. "Sayonara," I say, saluting them in my usual fashion.

I lock the door on my way out and jam a chair under the door handle, running down the stairs again. I stop in the bathroom halfway down and clean the blood from my face and arm, scowling when it won't come out of my shirt. I go back down into the alley and put the belt back into the briefcase and pull out a small roll of money and smile as I pull on the jacket that's been stuffed in there as well. I step out into the street again and hail a taxi.

"Take me to the bus stop out at the beach," I tell the driver.

"Sure thing, kid," he says. "You know buses don't run through there this time of night, don't you?"

"I know," I say. "Just get me there quick, alright?"

"If you say so," he says, pulling out from the curb.

The ride only lasts about twenty-five minutes, and I pay him for the ride and wait until he's disappeared from my view to start walking. I only have to go a couple of kilometres up the road, and it's easy to find my way in the dark. I only see one car on my way, and I duck into the bushes before they reach me. I walk at a steady pace, and I reach the end of the driveway in about ten minutes. The gate's been left open, but I shut it after me. My dirt bike's where I left it, behind one of the huge sandstone pillars the stand at either side of the driveway. I strap the briefcase to the back of the bike and kick it into life, racing down the driveway as fast as I can in the dark.

The only light on outside the house is just above the door, but I can see a light on in the study, where I'm never allowed to go. I take the spare keys out of their hiding place and unlock the door, putting the keys back afterwards. I stumble inside and slide the briefcase along the table in the lounge room near the speaker and gingerly pull off the jacket, swearing under my breath as it sticks to my arm, and toss it on the kitchen floor in a ball.

"About to die of something now?" the male voice says again, a trace of humour in his words. "You can't go to hospital. You know how to deal with this. And I'm expecting someone."

"Alright," I mutter.

"They should be here soon, but just deal with yourself now," he says. "Tell me when they're here."

"Sure thing," I say.

I go to the kitchen sink, since I'm feeling a little faint and I don't trust myself to not faint in the bathroom.

"Using the kitchen sink, huh?" he says through the speaker. I can almost hear his smug smile.

"I don't trust myself to not faint in the bathroom," I mutter coldly. "I'll clean it up afterwards."

"You'd better," he says, sounding almost a little uninterested.

I pull out our extensive first aid kit from under the sink and get to work. I've just pulled out what I need and put on a pair of gloves when a car appears on the TV in the lounge room. It's connected to the electric gates and only turns on when someone's at the gate. I scan the list of approved cars and the one outside is on the list. I open the gates and get back to my arm. It's still bleeding slowly, but I clean it up with an alcohol wipe, which stings a bit. I fill a syringe with anaesthetic, injecting it into my arm. When it's started working, I put on the tourniquet and pull it tight around my upper arm. I take the scalpel and grimace as I watch my arm. The blood has stopped flowing, and I know I have to be quick about this. Just as I start to lower it towards my arm the door opens and the three women from the apartment are there, all dressed in white.

"Uh, Uncle Charlie?" I call, knowing my voice will make it to the speaker. "Something you wanna tell me?"

"Uncle Charlie?" the woman with the brown hair says confusedly, the one that untied me.

"Charlie!" I yell. "Kinda busy right now!"

"Casey, stay there," he says. "Deal with yourself where there's someone to catch you if you faint."

"Fine," I spit.

He starts talking to the women through the speaker and I tune it out, focussing on my arm. I dig the scalpel in and the blood starts flowing again, but very slowly. I can feel it in my arm, and it hurts, but nowhere near as badly as it would without anaesthetic. I hear a little pop and the bullet starts moving, and I hope I didn't just hit a nerve. When I can see it I put down the scalpel and pull it out with my fingers, dropping it on the bench. I stitch it back up and wipe it over with another alcohol wipe and undo the tourniquet. I know they're risky, but it's all I've got. I can see the colour returning to my arm, but I can't feel it, so I won't be able to feel if there's anything wrong. It wasn't on there for too long, so there shouldn't be anything wrong.

"Casey," Charlie says through the speaker, catching my attention at the mention of my name as I pull off my blood stained gloves. "If that gets infected, it's your own fault. Bandage it. Now."

I sigh in resignation. "Yes, Uncle Charlie."

"Abby, go and help her. And do it in the bathroom, you won't have to worry about fainting," he adds. The blonde woman who must be Abby takes a couple of steps towards me before I speak.

"Charlie, I'm fine. I can do it on my own," I say angrily. Abby stops in her tracks and glances back at the other women.

"No, Casey," he says. "You're not fine. Abby, take her up to the bathroom and help her."

"Yes, Charlie," she says, and picks up the first aid kit. I start walking past the women and up to the bathroom with Abby following me.

"Casey," Charlie says just before I head up the stairs. "Don't forget to clean up after yourself."

"I won't, Uncle Charlie," I call over my shoulder, leaving before he can tell me anything else.

I lead Abby up to the pristine white bathroom and shut the door behind her.

"Sit up on the bench and I'll fix you up," she says, pulling a rolled up bandage out of the first aid kit. I stand on the corner of the bath and sit on the bench while she starts wrapping the bandage around my arm. "So, Casey, huh?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "What of it?"

"So Charlie's your uncle?" she asks, glancing up at my face for a second.

"Yeah, I've been living with him for a while," I say, watching her as she clips the bandage in place.

"You want me to fix up these two?" she asks, pointing to the cuts on my face.

"Yeah, thanks," I say, looking down at the bandage. "Nice job."

She nods, taking a washcloth and running it under warm water. "So what's your last name, Casey?"

I shrug. "I don't use it anymore." I pull my wallet out and show her the array of cards inside. "Look at the name."

"Casey Townsend," she murmurs.

"I changed my last name."

"So why did you change your name? Surely you have to keep one of your parents' names?" She looks up when I don't answer, guilt crossing her face. "Oh, God. Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault," I say. "You didn't know."

"What-what happened?" she asks hesitantly. "You don't have to-"

"There was a car crash about six years ago," I say, cutting her off. "My father was drunk and my mother was arguing with him, and I was in the back seat. They drove across a level crossing while a train was coming. It hit the car on the driver's side door and we spun off the road. My father died then. We rolled down the hill, and the car flipped a few times. I watched my mother die. I fractured my spine in six places, crushed my ankle, broke five ribs that punctured my lungs, and there's a massive scar up my chest from the metal twisting and cutting me open. I remember them pulling me from the car, and they had to put me in a coma for three days for the major surgery. I had to stay in hospital for a few months, learning how to walk again. They found Charlie after I'd been in there for a few weeks. He's my mother's brother, and he took me in after I got out of hospital."

"So you finished your rehab here?" she asks, carefully dabbing the cloth over the cuts.

"Yeah, I still have a little trouble with some things, and a bit of pain from time to time, but that's going to be lifelong," I say, wincing as she hits a more painful spot.

"Sorry," she says. "So do you still go back? To hospital I mean."

"No, I rarely go back to the hospital. It makes it a bit tough when my back starts hurting, but I make do."

"I've got a friend, she's a physio. She might be able to help you out," she says, rummaging through the first aid kit.

"Charlie wouldn't approve," I say, reaching for a small tube that I hand to her. "He doesn't like me being out of the house for too long. Besides, I have no money."

"I'll see what I can do," she says, looking at the tube. "How come you have all this stuff, anyway?"

"Charlie's insistence. He doesn't approve of me looking to others for help. He's all about me being independent, and all that kind of stuff."

She gently applies the liquid from the tube, and I can feel it hardening within seconds. "You want some tape on it?" she asks, putting the tube back in the bag.

"Yeah, that'd be best." She gently puts a couple of pieces of tape over the cuts and gives it a once over with some water. "What I don't get is why Charlie insisted that you help me when he normally doesn't want me getting help from anyone."

"I don't know. So how come you ended up in there tonight?" she asks, putting the tape away.

"I'd rather not say." I get off the bench and open the door. "After you."

She walks back down the stairs to the lounge room and I follow her with the first aid kit. I put it back under the sink and start cleaning up my mess from earlier. I put it all in a plastic bag, except for the bullet, which I clean off and put in a zip-lock bag to look at later. I throw out everything in the plastic bag and grab a glass of water, heading into the lounge room. I don't dare sit on the couches in what I'm wearing now, all dirty, sweaty and blood stained, so I stand awkwardly in the corner.

"Angels, you did well tonight. Casey, go and get changed and then you can sit on my couch," Charlie says through the speaker. He has cameras installed around the house so he can see what's going on.

"Yes, Uncle Charlie," I sigh, putting my glass back in the kitchen and heading upstairs. I get changed into a pair of navy skinny jeans, a black button up shirt, and my black buckled ankle boots. I go back downstairs and sit down, listening to the conversation between the three women and Charlie now.

"You need to make sure you get out of there as quickly as you can, and just do what you need to do. Your flaw tonight was going too far. Get in, do what you need to do, and get out. Casey," he says, and I lift my head and stare at the speaker. "Thank you for listening to me. You rarely do, but tonight was the night I really needed you to, and you did. You got my Angels out of there alive, and got yourself out, too."

"Well, you do seem to be training me to be some kind of super soldier," I mutter with a smirk.

"Ah, not a super soldier, my dear," he says. "Take a look in the cupboard." I leave the room and pull the black garment bag out of the cupboard. I unzip it and take out what's inside. I hold it up and look at it, frowning. "Put it on," Charlie says from the lounge room. I pull on the white leather jacket, tailor made, and it fits perfectly. I do up the zip and turn around, and I think I know what this means.

"Not a super soldier, Casey," Charlie says, quite softly. "An Angel."


End file.
